The Grey Room
by MG12CSI16
Summary: He comes home on a Sunday. The final story following Down This Road and Take it All. AU Sherlolly.


I'm finishing off this story line with a short but sweet little one shot that hopefully wraps everything up nicely because you guys deserve a happy ending as much as these two do. Seriously the response to these stories has been amazing and I did not expect the idea to be accepted so warmly, so thank you all for your kind words and overall awesomeness.

This is also my 100th story so woohoo for that as well. What better way to celebrate than with some Sherlolly huh?

I own nothing, sadly.

_So young and full of running_

_All the way to the edge of desire_

_Steady my breathing, silently screaming_

_I have to have you now_

_-Edge of Desire, _John Mayer

* * *

**The Grey Room**

He comes home on a Sunday.

Drenched in spring rain and dripping onto her carpet he smiles but she has yet to move from her spot next to the couch. Maybe, he thinks, the idea of a surprise wasn't his best idea because being gone for months with only a handful of calls and a few letters in between (they are both busy people he learns) is sort of a shock.

He can tell she was in the middle of making supper, can smell the tang of garlic coming from the kitchen and notes the sleeves on her jumper are rolled to her elbows and her hair is tied back. Coffee colored eyes have yet to leave his face, thin lips pursed in what he can only assume is surprise. Or agitation, he can't actually tell.

The silence is excruciating.

"I'm back," he finally announces, rocking back and forth on his heels as a shiver passes through him.

Molly cocks her head to the side, lets her travel eyes down his soaking body before going back up to his face, and starts to laugh. It's not a giggle, nothing like what normally pours from her lips, but instead a full forced cackle that has her clutching her sides until tears are streaming down her face.

Sherlock, to put it mildly, gawks at her with eyebrows halfway to his hairline. In his attempt at a romantic and hopefully well accepted gesture he was not expecting to be the source of her nightly amusement. He crosses his arms over his chest with a huff and waits for her to finish.

It's not until she has straightened herself back up, wipes at her eyes and clears her throat, still without speaking, that he finally sighs in frustration.

"You know Molly; a simple 'welcome home' would be nice."

She rolls her eyes but begins to step cautiously toward him, as he'll suddenly disappear once he's in her grasp. When she can feel the heat from his body flows into her own she all but pounces, bringing ice cold lips to her own and tangling her fingers in his damp curls.

When she pulls back she licks her lips and lets him wrap sturdy arms around her.

She doesn't even care if he's soaked her favorite shirt as she mumbles into his chest.

"Welcome home."

* * *

The longer Sherlock keeps his arms around her, the harder it is to actually let her go. He's ashamed to admit he's started to forget the way she feels against him, the way her hair tickles his nose and her fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt.

She smells strongly of warm vanilla and faintly of disinfectant, a comforting and familiar scent that almost has him melting right there on the floor (though he has more control than that of course). It brings memories to the forefront of his mind, makes it harder to think until her light voice breaks through the fog.

"I missed you."

It comes out as a whimper, desperate and pleading.

"I know." He says quietly, voice tinged with regret. "I know."

"I _need _you," she moans, pulling back so he can see the desire in her eyes.

He knows this too, of course, but he doesn't voice it.

It really doesn't need saying.

* * *

Sherlock's lips find hers this time when the tension is too much to bear, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin until they are red and swollen but even then she keeps coming back to him and that makes him _feel_ needed. Wanted even. She gasps and cries into his mouth, wraps her legs tightly around his waist when he picks her up and surrenders completely when he finally lays her down and snakes his hands under her shirt.

It's rougher than she remembers but then again it has been some time since they've done anything like this and they are both eager and slightly nervous. The butterflies in her stomach serve as proof. He tears at her clothes, tosses them aside and he alternates between stripping his own. Her shaky fingers flash out; undoing the button on his trouser before slipping inside past his boxers and taking him in her hand.

She is satisfied when he gasps and presses his forehead against hers, eyes screwed shut.

It must ignite the fire in him, because before she can make a sound or protest she's on her back once more and he is straddling her, dipping down to kiss every inch of skin, rediscovering her body with tender hands and lips. The scars and marks he's memorized appear one by one, he gets closer with every second.

She is just as heavenly as the first time.

Sherlock grinds his hips against hers, friction building until it's almost unbearable and they are so close to the edge he can't see straight. She eventually comes with a scream and her back arches sharply, yelling his name over and over until she shudders and her chest is heaving.

When they're done the smell of sex weighs heavily in the air, mingling with the scent of freshly fallen rain coming from the open window and he is completely at ease. It hits him suddenly that this is home, _Molly _is home and he is never leaving it again.

The tears (ones of joy and overall relief he later realizes) come shortly after that but Sherlock is the least bit surprised, simply pulling her into his arms and letting her sob against his chest because after all this time spent waiting and bottled up emotions she has kept, she deserves it.

* * *

"So you're staying this time?"

It's the second time she's asked him so far but he can't seem to fault her for her uncertainty. Glancing back at the bed where she's sprawled out, sheet draped across her bare chest, he nods once.

"I'm staying. Unless you kick me out that is."

Sherlock hears a light chuckle and the mattress squeals slightly, a quiet rustling as she picks up his shirt and shrugs it on. Arms wrap around him gently from behind, fingers locking above his navel as she holds him tightly and sighs into his skin.

"Do you think we can do this?" she asks suddenly, "Have a normal life and just blend in?"

He stops unpacking his bag and peeks at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Do you?"

Molly shrugs and finally lets him go. He misses the warmth instantly.

"I don't know. I'm not even sure I know what normal is anymore," she gives a light laugh but he can see the worry and uncertainty in her eyes.

Part of him knew coming back would be difficult, not because they didn't want it but because it would mean adjusting to something neither of them knew anything about. He was not one to be easily domesticated, work was supposed to be his only concern until Molly came into his life and now he wasn't really sure what was supposed to happen next. He looks back at her and tries to look confident, knowing instantly he's probably failing.

"We don't have to be stereotypical you know. Marriage and kids, it's not something we have to do."

Although his voice wavers her interest is piqued at his words as she drags her bottom lip between her teeth and watches him questioningly.

"So what are you proposing we do?"

He smiles slyly and pulls her closer, kissing her lips gently.

"Whatever we want. Traveling would be nice. You would love it and I have so many places I could show you."

There are suddenly a million ideas running through his head, almost too many to sort through. Her face lights up at the suggestion but quickly falls once more.

"What if I wanted to get married and have kids?"

"Then I would be more than happy to oblige you. But we do have time you know, we can take things slow and do it right. I can take you on dates and you can meet my mother, only if you want to of course. We could get a cat."

Molly barks out a laugh. "A cat?"

Sherlock shrugs innocently. "I may get lonely while you're out at work all day; I think a cat is a great idea."

She can only continue to giggle. "We'll see about the cat."


End file.
